My wife tells me that I need to wipe my ass better because my dingleberries are making my underware a nasty mess, however I like the idea of her down in the basement doing laundry and cleaning up my foul nasty underware.

A smallish, semi-dry, extraordinarily tenacious remnant of fecal matter which, when unwittingly rolled into a mixture with toilet paper lint by the action of wiping, becomes almost irremovably entangled among ones anal hair, a situationality exacerbated by the vigorous chafing and friction between the buttocks and most commonly remedied by the sad and almost entirely unavoidable remedy of plucking out at its root the individual hair to which each dingleberry is conjoined. Of related interest, dingleberries are often noted as having the vague odor of undigested corn or peanuts.

*Plink*

Ouch! Son of a bitch, that hurt!

Then, dingleberry is uphelp by a coarse and curly hair between the fingers about 6 inches in front of the face and marveled at by the viewer, who experiences waves of anger, wonder, and bitterness while contemplating in earnest the sordid and very stupid affair of shaving the unfortunate crease in his or her own ass.